


Fade

by FrancesOsgood



Series: The Secrets We Keep [4]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: All fairytales must come to an end. If only for a little while.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Series: The Secrets We Keep [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516433
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	Fade

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the universe of "The Secrets We Keep." If you've not read that, some of this may not make sense.

It was a rainy morning in late spring when he took his leave of her. Although she had expected it and had prepared herself, her heart had crumbled all the same. Tears wet her cheeks and dripped from her chin to the patterned rug as his hand grew cold in hers. She sat with him a long time, just the two of them. The children had excused themselves, creeping silently back to the lounge to allow their parents one last moment together. 

Days later, the house was quiet. The friends and family had finally gone and Sarah sat alone at the kitchen table, gazing intently at the last thing he had given her, a handful of flowers from his garden. His muddy boots had left a trail from the foyer to the kitchen when he’d come in clutching the colorful bouquet, but she hadn’t been cross. She had just accepted the flowers with a kiss to his cheek before placing them in a small vase and setting them in the center of the table. Such moments were precious, she knew. Far too valuable to be squandered squabbling over a little mud. 

She had known even before then that he was fading. His color was muted, dulled, as if under a passing shadow. But the shadow never lifted. In fact, it grew thicker as the days passed, stealing his brightness and warmth. He had said nothing, but she had seen resignation in his eyes and understood. He wouldn’t fight the call of his kinsmen, the call to the silver plain. 

“How long?” she asked him one night as they sat together in the quiet lounge. 

He was silent for several moments before he answered. 

“I don’t know for certain,” he told her at last. “But most likely before Spring ends.”

She nodded and asked nothing further, but went back to her reading.

That had been in early March when snow was still on the ground and the warm months seemed very far away. But April and May had passed too quickly and the golden glow of June had dawned, washing out the pink of his cheeks and the blue of his eyes even as it brightened the color of everything else around him.

Sarah sometimes wished that she hadn’t let him trade his immortality for a few measly decades of steady decay, but she knew the decision hadn’t really been hers. He’d already made up his mind when he offered her the finite version of himself, and she had accepted him. It had still been painful at times, seeing him change. His hair had gone ashy before it grayed, but rather than detract from his looks, it had made him look distinguished. His face had begun to show his age, with little laugh lines appearing in the corners of his eyes and the edges of his lips. 

Sarah looked at her own reflection as she pulled the black cloth from the last mirror. She had aged also, but she had aged well. Her salt-and-pepper hair was still long and soft and her eyes were still bright, although the skin around them was a bit crepey. If Jareth had ever regretted getting old alongside her, he’d never shown it. They’d made love like teenagers right up until the last days, when his waning strength allowed him to do little more than sit up in the bed and read. 

They’d spent the evenings talking then. They talked about the old days before they had found each other again. They talked about Toby who had taken over his father’s law office after Robert Williams had passed away. Toby had married and his teenage daughters had spent several summers with her and Jareth in Great Missenden, riding horses and running about the countryside.

They talked about the little town that had adopted them. Of Moira who had just welcomed her fifth grandchild. Of the Roald Dahl Museum and the  _ Cross Keys _ and its new owners, a couple of expats from South Dakota. 

Mostly they had talked about their family, their son Keiran and their daughter Lucy. There was a difference of nearly ten years between the two. Sarah had almost given up hope of giving Jareth another child when one morning the smell of coffee had her running for the toilet. Lucy, now 20, was in her final year of studies at King’s College in London. Keiran, at almost 32, had his own production company in California as well as a wife and two children. Matthew and Madeline were the light of Jareth’s eyes and whenever he was able to see them he spoiled them shamelessly. 

He had balked a bit when Sarah spoke of calling in the children in the last days. 

“They’re busy,” he’d grumbled. “Let them be. The last thing they need is to be sitting around waiting for me to go.”

“We should all be together for this,” Sarah had argued. He’d relented then, understanding that his wife would need the support of her children after he’d slipped away. 

Now, even they had come and gone. Back to jobs and children and school and their own responsibilities. Lucy had offered to stay longer since it was just a short drive, but Sarah had shooed her along, assuring her she would be fine. 

The big country house was strangely quiet. No slamming of the kitchen door as Jareth traipsed in with a load of vegetables from his carefully tended garden patch. No plunking of piano keys as he taught music lessons at the big old grand in the front parlor. No rattling of pans in the kitchen as he put together one of his gastronomic masterpieces. Just the ticking of the clock and the quiet creaks of the old house warming itself in the June sun. 

Sarah bit back bitterness and anguish. She’d promised him she wouldn’t let herself crumble. Wouldn’t try to follow him before her time. 

“Keep yourself for the children,” he’d begged. She’d agreed, knowing he was right. Had things been reversed, she would have asked the same of him. 

_ “Stay. Live and be happy. Even without me.” _

She wouldn’t have wanted him to fall into despair, to become sad and gaunt without her. It was only a short separation, after all. A mere blip on the timeline when compared to the eternity they would spend together later in  _ Tir na Nog.  _

She still had her memories and they were vivid and beautiful. Memories of supernatural magic and everyday miracles. Of books and music and friends and food and above all, love. She had loved and been loved and that was more than many were blessed with. It was enough to carry her until she could see him again. 

As if in answer to her thoughts, the clock on the mantle began to chime and she paused and listened as its silver bells dinged the hour.

9… 10… 11… 12… 13

A little laugh escaped her lips and she couldn’t help but smile. 

_ “Arrogant bastard.” _

He wanted her to know he was there. That he would always be with her, unseen and without form, but there all the same. 

She would never be alone. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for indulging me in some sorrow porn. I am in the throes of an episode of PCOS and I am hormonal and a bit depressed. Misery loves company, as the saying goes, so here is your invitation to my sad little party. I make no excuses or apologies.


End file.
